


All Our Yesterday's

by perfectlystill



Category: 10 Things I Hate About You (1999)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: She's annoyed, and it creeps into her voice. Kat has learned annoyance creeps into her voice more often than it does for most people, easy and natural. And because of this, when it happens, her friends at school purse their lips and roll their eyes. Joey likes to pat her shoulder and tell her to calm down "sweetie."She tries her best to tamp it down, and she wins some battles, but Kat has an inkling she's losing the war.





	All Our Yesterday's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandel/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Sandel! You had so many wonderful ideas and prompts, and I touched on a few of them here, so I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. 
> 
> Title from Shakespeare's _Macbeth_.

Kat wakes up on Saturday morning. 

Her mother putters around the kitchen, and Bianca grumbles as she yanks open the silverware drawer, the utensils clanking. 

"Mom," Kat says, leaning against the archway. "I need you to take me to the mall to meet Helen and Emily." 

She's annoyed, and it creeps into her voice. Kat has learned annoyance creeps into her voice more often than it does for most people, easy and natural. And because of this, when it happens, her friends at school purse their lips and roll their eyes. Joey likes to pat her shoulder and tell her to calm down "sweetie." 

She tries her best to tamp it down, and she wins some battles, but Kat has an inkling she's losing the war. 

"Katerina," her mom replies, voice soft and syrupy sweet. "I'm making you girls pancakes for breakfast."

"I need to be at the mall in ten minutes." 

"You hate the mall." Her mom waves her off, picking up her spatula and flipping a pancake. 

Kat groans. That's not the _point_. "I promised them I'd be there at ten."

"Well, you can call them and tell them you'll be a little late." 

"What if they already left because they're punctual?"

"Then they don't sound like the girls who showed up 20 and 45 minutes late for the sleepover two weeks ago." Her mom turns around and smiles, spatula in the air, batter dripping down the handle and onto her thumb. 

Bianca giggles. 

Kat glares. 

 

 

Kat wakes up on Sunday morning. 

She stumbles into her dad sitting at the bottom of the stairs, head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" she asks. 

He looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes, face more pale than the first time she wore lipstick. 

Her mom left. 

Kat sits next to him on the stairs.

She feels empty as she rubs his back. 

There is something about watching her father try not to cry that makes her throat dry and her stomach knot. It's easy to be strong for him, because it doesn't feel like her mom leaving is a real thing that happened, and it certainly didn't happen to _her_. Her mom usually goes to the grocery store on Sunday morning, before hollering from the kitchen about no one helping put away any of her haul. She could be picking up apples and milk and a pound of ground beef right now. 

When Bianca tiptoes down the stairs, Kat's the one who tells her and lets her cry on her shoulder. 

Kat doesn't cry at all that day, and not even at night, lying in bed and thinking about how her mom still isn't home. 

 

 

Everyone is doing it. 

Having sex. 

Not at the same time, presumably, but Emily lost her virginity -- her words, not Kat's -- to Oscar after a party last week, recalling the moment with hands clasped to her heart and a far-away, starry-eyed look. She said it didn't feel as amazing as she thought it would, but that he kept asking her if she was okay, and brushed her hair away from her forehead after. Emily told the story like it was some real life fairy tale, but the look she shot around the lunch table when she asked if anyone else had "you know," chin raised and eyes sharp, said more.

And Joey's hair flips just the right way, he booked a modeling gig last weekend, and his house is even bigger than Kat's. He might be a little stupid and arrogant, but all the freshman girls want to date him, but he's with Kat, kissing down her neck in a slobbery way she sort of likes and sort of hates. 

"Let's have sex," he says, hand already unbuckling her belt. 

"Okay."

As it's happening, she remembers Emily's bright eyes and feathery voice, but she doesn't feel like that. It doesn't hurt, and it doesn't last very long, and all Joey does is grunt a little, arms shaking on either side of Kat's head. He doesn't even say her name when he comes, and Kat doesn't come at all. 

She feels like shit after and stumbles home with her arms wrapped around her body, which seems to inexplicably ache. Her dad's still at work, and Bianca is at Chastity's, and Kat crawls into bed for a nap. She wakes up to her dad knocking at her door, asking if she wants to come down for dinner. He ordered Chinese and knows it's her favorite. That's something different about her mom being gone: her mom used to make dinner every night, but her dad orders takeout every night. 

"Okay," she says. 

She's not hungry, but she doesn't want to draw suspicion. 

 

 

"Hey, Kat," Joey says, swinging by her locker. 

"Hey." She shoves her copy of _MacBeth_ onto the top shelf. She finished the play last night, even though they were only assigned through Act 3. She thinks she liked Lady Macbeth more than she was meant to. Lady Macbeth was right about her husband being weak, and her subsequent descent into madness could only have been written by a man. 

"My parents are out of town this weekend." He waggles his eyebrows, smirk smeared across his mouth. 

Kat bites her lip. "I don't think I can."

"Why not?" There's annoyance in his voice, and Kat has learned it's much more acceptable for boys than it is for girls. 

"My dad won't let me," she tries. 

It's true. If she told her dad she was going to a boy's house, he wouldn't let her out of his sight for the next two weeks. He's always been protective, but his tendencies have only amplified since her mom left. 

"Just tell him you're going to Helen's."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?" Joey's face reddens and he crosses his arms over his chest. It reminds Kat of the hissy fit her little cousin threw at the big family Christmas party last year, and if she was willing to be convinced, he's doing a piss poor job of it. There's nothing alluring or sexy about a boy having a temper tantrum because the sex was bad and you don't want to sleep with him again. 

"Because I wasn't ready. And I don't want to," shes says softly, still trying kind honesty despite herself. 

"We already did," Joey says. "What's the big deal? If you don't sleep with me, someone else will."

Kat slams her locker shut and Joey startles, eyes blinking. 

"Invite one of them over, then, tiny dicked asshole."

 

 

The summer after they moved, before Kat started fourth grade and was afraid she wouldn't make any friends, her mom told her this change was odd. 

"Most change is so small and happens so slowly, you only notice it later. You don't even realize it's happening as it does. Most change happens within you." 

Her dad said: "Change sucks. Deal with it."

Kat understands what her mom meant, but it hadn't been helpful then, and while her dad's words weren't comforting either, he wasn't wrong. 

Kat returns to school on Monday to hushed whispers and snickers. When she says "Hi" to Julie in Algebra, Julie scoffs and ignores her, and even though there are two empty seats at her usual lunch table, Emily tells her they're saving those chairs. Kat can't sit with them. 

She rolls her shoulders back, nonplussed expression forced onto her face. "Enjoy your imaginary friends."

 

 

"Mrs. Cade told me there's a dance next weekend," her dad says, eyeing Kat suspiciously across the dinner table. 

"I'm not going." Kat stabs at the soggy green beans they picked up from the diner downtown. 

"Why not?" Bianca asks. 

At the same time her dad says, "Well. Good."

"Did no one ask you?" Bianca continues, eyebrows tilting in sympathy. She speaks high and bright, and it reminds Kat of their mom.

"I wouldn't go even if anyone did." 

"I'm sure that's what all the girls say," Bianca tuts, reaching across the table to pat Kat's hand, but Kat pulls away. "No need to get testy, jeez."

"I think that's smart," their dad interjects, nodding more to himself than his daughters. "Very smart. I wouldn't let you go, anyway. Nothing good happens at those dances. I've seen movies." 

"Dad!" Bianca protests. "Mom would want her to go. Get the full high school experience."

Their dad's face pales, and he grits his teeth. 

"I'm sorry," Bianca whispers, looking down at her plate. "I shouldn't have said that."

"You're right," their dad says. "Your mom would have wanted her to go. But your mom isn't here, and she doesn't see teenage pregnancy horrors at work every day. So neither of you will go to any dances as long as you live under my roof."

Kat rolls her eyes. "This is stupid."

"I agree," Bianca cuts in, eyes manic. "What if I want to go to a dance? We have an eighth grade dance at school!"

"I meant it's stupid because I didn't want to go, anyway. This conversation is pointless."

Bianca glares at her and spends the next five minutes arguing with their dad about socialization. 

 

 

Kat rolls her eyes as she flips through the essay she's been assigned to peer review. She knew her classmates were mindless idiots who had trouble stringing coherent thoughts together, but this is an enlightening exercise. 

Also annoying, because there's nothing she can do to fix all the bullshit without doing all the work for this asshole. 

She circles an entire paragraph, writes _Clarity_ next to it, and then a girl she's never seen before sits across from her. 

"That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, / For slander's mark was ever yet the fair," she says. 

Kat blinks. "Thanks?"

"I'm Mandella." She holds out her hand, formal, and her handshake is strong and firm. 

"Kat. But I'm the resident school leper, so you might want to go find..." She takes in Mandella's dark purple gown, the layers of velour and lace, the high collar wrapped around her neck. "The theater kids. Or something."

Mandella scrunches up her nose. "It'd be difficult to find one theater kid who isn't a selfish arse, and your thoughts on the toxicity of Heathcliffe and Catherine's relationship in English were spot on."

There's sincerity in the soft arch of Mandella's brow, and her cheeks flush pale pink the longer Kat stares at her, looking for any signs of stupidity or trickery. But Kat figures she's smarter than most people: quoting Shakespeare at her like it's nothing, and despising annoying theater kids who think just because they can carry a tune, they know everything about art.

Besides, nobody who worries what the popular kids think would wear that dress.

Kat bites her bottom lip. "Okay. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Mandella beams.

 

 

"Bianca!" Kat yells, knocking on the bathroom door. "You've been in there for 30 minutes. How many eyelashes can you possibly have to put mascara on?"

Silence.

"Bianca!" 

Nothing.

Kat tries her hand at the knob, finds it twist easily under her palm, and opens the door. 

Bianca's sitting on the toliet lid, legs spread, underwear hanging between the poles of her shins. She's reading a tampon box like it has all the answers in the universe. Her shoulders are hitched toward her ears, jaw clenched, and Kat sees the twitch in her bottom lip. "When you got your period, Mom took you out for a girls' day," Bianca says, not looking up. The box collapses between her shaking hands. 

"Oh."

"I'm a woman now."

Kat fights the urge to roll her eyes. Because bleeding from your uterus is a delineation that says nothing about maturity or life experience. It's awful, really. Cramps, ruined underwear, the desire to eat an entire carton of ice cream. But their mom did take her out for lunch, warned her about boys, and asked if she had any questions about sex, because she knew their father would be of no help. She answered Kat's question in a simple, no nonsense way, and then took her to see _Sense and Sensibility_. It was a nice day in retrospect, but at the time Kat would have preferred chewing her own pinky off. 

"You're still you," Kat offers.

Bianca looks up, eyes bloodshot. "I'm different."

"Sure." Kat does roll her eyes this time. 

"I miss Mom." The wobble in Bianca's bottom lips breaks as the first tear rolls down her cheek. Kat rubs her back, soft soothing circles like the ones their mom used to do when they were little and got the stomach flu. 

"She would have made you have the sex talk with her."

"Ew." Bianca wipes at her eyes. 

"I could take you out for a 'girls' day.'" Kat has a chemistry quiz to study for, and she and Mandella were going to hit up the thrift store later, but she misses their mom, too. 

Bianca stares at her for a moment, uncertainty in her eyes clouding over and almost going bright again. Her lips turn up into the approximation of a smile. "Only if you promise to take me to see _Romeo + Juliet_."

Kat grumbles, but she agrees. 

 

 

Mr. Gregor hates her. Probably because she tends to talk back, hand shooting up in the air at every other idiotic statement he makes. That's why he's paired her with Joey to fill out the worksheet on "The Dead," but Kat thinks ignoring half the patriarchal bullshit he spews about the female characters -- he did a number on Daisy Buchanan -- is more than a fair compromise.

Still, she's stuck sitting next to Joey, their desks pushed together.

Kat is incredibly aware of the lack of space between them, the slouch of Joey's posture and the spread of his knees. He's taking up all the space, and Kat's got her legs crossed, leaning as far right as possible. She smells his cologne, the same scent he wore the night they had sex, and she swallows around the bile in her throat.

"What do you think the answer to number three is?" she asks.

Joey shrugs, doodling something lewd in the margin of his notebook.

"Hello?" Kat smacks his arm.

"Jesus, don't assault me."

"I already filled out the first two. We're supposed to be doing this together." She rolls her eyes. "Unless you're too much of a pea-brained neanderthal to answer the questions."

"Verbal abuse, too," he tuts, a smarmy glint in his eye that makes Kat narrow hers. "No wonder I dumped your prude ass."

" _I_ dumped you."

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart." Joey smirks, leaning back in his chair.

When he goes to pillow his hands behind his head, his elbow whacks Kat's shoulder.

She hits him back.

 

 

"You punched a boy?" her dad asks. Kat can hear the hint of pride in his tone, but it's buried under shock and outrage.

"Hitting another student is unacceptable," Mr. Pierce, the vice principal, repeats.

"You can't suspend her," her dad says.

Kat crosses her arms over her chest. Mr. Pierce told her violence is never the answer, whether provoked or unprovoked, chin tilted and voice flat, like he didn't care and didn't believe her.

"We'll have her discuss the incident with Ms. Perky and serve detention after school."

"Fine."

Kat watches her father shake the vice prinicpal's hand and rolls her eyes.

If she was going to get in trouble for hitting Joey anyway, she would have aimed for his nose instead of his arm.

 

 

Mandella purses her lips, smile small and tight. 

"What?" Kat asks.

"Oh, nothing." Mandella shakes her head, apple's of her cheeks flushing.

"What?"

"It's just ... you don't care what anyone thinks about you, but you always let Joey get under your skin." Mandella marks her place with the ribbon attached to the spine of her Shakespeare collection, swinging her legs onto Kat's bed. "Why?"

"He's an asshole."

_Duh._

"Yeah, but a lot of people are assholes," Mandella points out, looking at Kat with an arched brow.

Kat grunts noncommittally, toes curling against her flip-flops.

Mandella's been a good friend to her the past few months. She glares at the people Kat glares at, rambles about sonnet forms and the current state of academia, hands just as expressive as her words, and introduced Kat to the best Thai place downtown. They share CDs, visit the theater that screens Old Hollywood movies on Sunday nights, and Mandella even stuck up for her when Emily tried to get her in trouble during biology.

Kat trusts her.

And though she might feel stronger than she used to, more comfortable having a voice and screaming at anyone who catcalls her, she's also tired.

"We used to go out," Kat admits, face warm with embarrassment.

"You and Joey?"

"Yeah." She swallows. "We had sex, but I--"

It surprises her when the words lump in her throat, vision blurring with tears. Kat closes her eyes, folds her hands into fists in her lap, blunt nails digging into her palms the way her teeth dig into her bottom lip. She doesn't want to cry.

But then Mandella's hovering next to her, hand fluttering around her shoulder blade, and Kat hiccups. The first tear falls, and Mandella's hand settles against her back, warm and reassuring.

"It's not your fault," Mandella says.

"I know."

Kat doesn't plan on making a habit out of crying, but Mandella calls Joey a plague sore, and it feels good. Cathartic. Like she's purging herself of any remaining specks of guilt or regret or desire to fit in.

"Thanks," Kat says when she's done, face sticky with dried tears, Mandella in the doorway offering to grab water and a bag of chips for them to munch on.

"No problem." Mandella shrugs. "That's what friends are for. Being there." 

 

 

Kat wakes up on Saturday.

Bianca's scrambling eggs on the stove, pink pajama pants blinding. "I can make some for you," she offers. 

"Just getting coffee," Kat mumbles. 

There's a note next to the coffee maker from their dad: 

_You're too young to drink this. Have a good day. I'll be home before two.  
Love, Dad_

Kat rubs at her eyes and makes herself a cup anyway.

"You're not supposed to do that," Bianca says, hand on her hip.

Kat shrugs, watching the coffee stream into the pot. "You can have some if you want."

Bianca's eyes light up, and she nods. "Sure. Thanks."

"Whatever."

Bianca rolls her eyes, and Kat grins. Her head is hazy with sleep, but she's starting to embrace the annoyance that sparks at the base of her skull whenever people look at her wrong, whenever her peers huddle together and whisper as she walks by. She likes that people can tell when she's frustrated and not in the mood to deal with their shit, which is basically always. She has her own future to plan for without adhering to the absurd standards her peers have decided to enforce.

Kat lost the war.

It feels more like winning a battle.


End file.
